


strangers, landlords, lovers

by godsrevolver



Category: Cow Chop
Genre: 90s time period, Drug Use, Eventual Character Death, HIV/AIDS, M/M, Prostitution, Rent AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-25 21:43:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12044868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsrevolver/pseuds/godsrevolver
Summary: James Wilson is a film school dropout living in East Village, Manhattan looking to make a living in the film industry. But, he has plenty of other problems to deal with first: making rent on time, dealing with AIDs, and trying not to fall for the bassist-turned-stripper-and-junkie who lives downstairs.(a Cow ChopRENTau)





	1. eviction or pay

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't seen the movie RENT, i highly recommend it, as it's what this fic is completely based off of. i'm also not following the plot closely, this is more like a loose interpretation. for reference, james = mark, aleks = a mix between roger and mimi, joe = collins, trevor = angel, brett = maureen, asher = coffin, and anna = joanne. all the relationships and character dynamics here are also NOT the same as they are in the movie. enjoy!

_December 24th, 1989. 9:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time._

It had been nearly two years since James had dropped out of the first semester of his sophomore year at New York University’s prestigious Tisch School of the Arts. It wasn’t because he couldn’t keep up; it was an amalgam of problems ranging from his depression to his hatred of the institution that was NYU. It had been his goal since junior year of high school to become a filmmaker, and his dream to get into Tisch. He had the grades, the extracurriculars, the skills, the family support, and even the necessary money to fund his ambitions. When James had received his acceptance letter in the mail that March, he nearly cried.

He had loved the school at first. Everything from the city campus to the parties was what he had hoped it would be, maybe even more. His first semester professors weren’t _that_ tough, and his grades weren’t that bad either. He even had a pretty decent social status for an underclassman.

Everything changed over that winter break. 

James had been invited to a Delta Lambda Phi New Year’s Eve party, nothing out of the ordinary for a weekend. He didn’t remember much of it; he knew that he had gotten wasted towards the middle of the party, and ended up having sex with one of the frat members. Garrett, James thinks his name was.

The sex wasn’t _horrible_ , but it wasn’t the best. They were both sloppy drunk, meaning their coordination wasn’t exactly in sync. It wasn’t passionate, either; it was pretty much just a way for James to get off. 

After he had finished, James never forgot the brief conversation they had had.

They were both laying naked on their backs, James under the covers. After a few minutes of silence, Garrett had begun to laugh uncontrollably.

“What’s so funny?” James had smiled, attempting to turn on his side, but drunkenly failing.

“I’m positive,” Garrett giggled, looking up over the ceiling. James felt his heart drop to his stomach.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, HIV.” Garrett turned to look over at James, still smiling. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?”

The last thing James remembered from that night was vomiting his guts out alone in the frat bathroom, tears pouring down his face.

James had gotten tested, of course, but Garrett was right. He felt like his life was over when he was told he had _maybe_ another ten years in the best case scenario. He decided to keep his illness hidden, even if it meant abstinence. James was devastated, to say the least.

Flash forward two years, he was still alive (thank _God_ ), living in Manhattan’s East Village, trying to make ends meet with his old film camera. He lived with his high school best friend, Joe, who was also out of college, but due to expulsion rather than his own will. They had reconnected after seeing each other on the subway for the first time in nearly two years. Joe was unemployed too, but made much less of an effort than James did to make money to help pay the rent.

Peddling his bike as quick as he could, James suddenly remembered it was Christmas Eve. He had been out shooting whatever he could find, from a homeless woman’s encounter with the cops to people walking down the sidewalk. He wondered if Joe had gotten him a gift, but secretly hoped he hadn’t; James was too fucking poor to give him anything, and he was the _worst_ gift-giver ever anyways. Hopping off his bike as he pulled up to his apartment, he dug around for his keys as he shivered, locating them in his jean pocket and opening the door. He shoved the keys back in his coat pocket, picking the bike up and walking it up the stairs. It felt unusually cold, and when he reached the door to his and Joe’s apartment, he could tell the lights were off.

Their apartment was one room, filled with several pieces of furniture, a bookshelf, a fridge, and an oven. It wasn’t anything special; it was cold and dreary, lit only by the moonlight that poured in.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” James exclaimed angrily as he entered, setting his bike against the wall. Joe was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper, a few candles lit around him.

“Hello to you too,” Joe grinned, looking up.

“Asher turned off our power on Christmas Eve, of all days? What the _fuck_.” James unwrapped his scarf and tossed it along with his coat onto the kitchen table. He took a seat opposite Joe, rubbing his face with his hands.

“What do you expect from him?” Joe scoffed, putting the paper down and sitting upright. “He’s an asshole, James. He obviously just wants something from us. The rent, probably.”

A sharp knock came from their door, making James jump.

“Come in,” Joe called out.

“Speak of the fucking devil,” James muttered, giving Asher a nasty glare as he shut the door behind him.

“Look,” Asher began, holding his hands up defensively. “Before you get upset--”

“ _Upset?_ ” Joe laughed. “What do you mean upset? We _love_ having no heat and power on Christmas Eve.” He put his legs up on the coffee table in front of him, resting his arms behind his head.

“Hey,” Asher said in a warning tone, walking over and sitting next to James. “To be fair, I own this. I can do with it as I please. I still have yet to see _any_ rent from the two of you.”

“You’re wasting your time, Asher,” James said tiredly. “You know that. We’re broke. We’re trying, we really are, but we’re broke.”

“Seriously, what happened to you?” Joe asked, glaring at Asher. “What happened to your _heart_?”

“Look,” Asher leaned forward in his chair, glancing from Joe to James. “There is _one_ way you won’t have to pay.”

James sat up, looking at Joe, then back at Asher. “We’re listening.”

“The block _finally_ got rezoned, meaning I can finally build the cyber studio. You know, a state-of-the-art digital, virtual, interactive studio.” Asher looked back at James, who scoffed.

“You’re still holding onto that dead dream?”

“It was _our_ dream, James, and of course I am,” Asher started calmly. “I even have investors. They’re the real deal. But, there is one thing I need you to do for me.”

“Of course,” Joe threw his arms up, annoyed.

“I’ll forgo your rent, on paper guaranteed, if you convince Brett to cancel his protest on Friday. You’ll be able to stay here for free.” Asher explained.

“Why not just get an injunction, or call the cops?” James asked, his eyebrows coming together in confusion.

“I did, and they’re on standby. But, my investors rather I handle this quietly. You have to understand.”

“You can’t just _quietly_ evict an entire block of people,” Joe said with a raised voice.

“Listen. If you still want to produce films, James, and do whatever you do, Joe, you need somewhere to do it.” Asher sat back in his chair and looked over at James again. “It’s what we used to dream about; think twice before you refuse it. You’ll see, boys.”

“Just stop the protest,” Asher continued as he stood up, buttoning his coat back up, “and you’ll have it made. Two days: you’ll do it, or you’ll pack.” He turned and walked out, firmly shutting the door behind him.

“There’s no way we’re going to get Brett to cancel,” James said matter-of-factly. “Trust. I’ve shot his protests before, he’s too dedicated.”

“Plus, we can’t just betray him like that,” Joe murmured. “He’s our neighbor. He’s one of _us_ , not a demanding snob like Asher. We can’t just backstab him.”

“I know,” James sighed, slumping down in his chair.

“Hey man, cheer up,” Joe hit him playfully on the knee. “It’s Christmas, at least. I got us a couple of things.” _Fuck._

Joe reached behind him and pulled out a stack of twenty-dollar bills and a bottle of Absolut vodka, setting it on the coffee table.

“ _Jesus_ , Joe, where’d you get all that money?” James breathed out. It had _really_ been a while since he’d known how it felt to be financially secure.

“I have my ways,” Joe grinned, cracking open the bottle. “Get me some glasses, would ya?”

James got up and went to the kitchen, but the only clean cups they had were mugs. He looked over at Joe, holding one up. “These’ll have to do.”

“Oh well, bring ‘em here.” Joe waved his hand. James came back, sitting next to Joe on the couch, handing him the glasses. Joe filled them up half-way, sliding one over to James.

“Cheers,” Joe smiled, reaching his cup out to James’s.

“Happy birthday, Jesus,” James muttered, clinking his cup and taking a deep sip.

“The money isn’t enough to cover the rent, and I know we should do something good with it, but I wanted to do something with a bit it, just you and me.”

James raised his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“You ever heard of the Cat Scratch Club?”


	2. the best ass below 14th street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James sighed and moved over to the couch, laying down, hoping to get some rest. Moments later, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He groaned, getting up to answer the door.
> 
> “Did you forget your keys or something?” James asked, annoyed as he opened the door, freezing for a minute.
> 
> “No, I have them. At least I think so.” James couldn’t get himself to move or talk as he saw the brunette from the club standing in front of him, leaning up against his doorway. He was the last person James expected to see, but nevertheless, there he was, standing inches away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for homophobic slur, drug reference.

Joe and James were only a _little_ drunk before heading to Cat Scratch. Enough to feel woozy and remember the next morning, but not enough to stumble and slur. The club wasn’t far from their apartment at all; only about a mile or so, James had estimated. He’d been there before, when he was in college, just to test the waters of adult life. It was one of the best clubs in Manhattan, in his opinion. Not that he had been to many others, though. 

“Jesus, the line’s long,” James mumbled from under his scarf. The line was wrapped around the block, filled with kids who barely looked 18, all dressed in tight jeans and skirts with fishnets. Meanwhile, James was dressed like a fucking grandpa with a jacket, flannel, and scarf.

“Did’ja know that Brett’s the doorman on weeknights? It’s Friday, he should be able to get us right in,” Joe grinned proudly.

As they crossed the street, Joe turned out to be right. Brett was standing in front of the door all macho, dressed in all black. He was wearing short sleeves, which made James wonder how the _hell_ his arms weren’t frozen in the December weather. Brett was talking to some ridiculously tall, mousy-haired kid who looked like a high school student, arguing presumably over entrance.

“Feel bad for him,” Joe chuckled at the boy as they approached Brett. Just as the kid looked like he was about to scream, Brett turned to see Joe and James walking up.

“Hey boys, what’s happenin’?” Brett greeted Joe with a bro hug and James with a handshake. James had never realized how strong Brett _actually_ was.   

“Not much, man, didn’t know you worked here,” James said, shoving his hands back deep into his coat pockets. Goddamn, it was cold.

“Yeah, gotta spread my agenda somehow, y’know? You comin’ to the protest tomorrow?” Brett asked.

“Well, Asher--” James started, but Joe cut him off.

“Of course, man, what kind of friends would we be if we _didn’t_ come? Our buddy Angel here is coming too,” Joe beamed, wrapping an arm around the kid at the front of the line. The kid froze, unsure of what was going on. James stifled a laugh.

“He is, is he?” Brett cocked an eyebrow and looked at the boy, who frantically nodded.

“Well, alright,” Brett shrugged after a minute of staring the kid down, opening the door to let them in. “You three can go on in. Don’t get too trashed, gotta save some brain cells for tomorrow.”

“Gotcha,” James gave him a thumbs up as he followed Joe and ‘Angel’ in, Brett shutting the door behind them.

“What’s your name, kid?” Joe asked the boy as they began walking down a few stairs. The lighting was dim, the air thick with sweat and cologne.

“Trevor,” he replied. “I’m 19. Thanks a ton, dude.”

“Man, you don’t look a day over 18,” Joe laughed, slapping him on the back. As they reached the counter, Joe handed over money in exchange for three tickets.

“What’s going on tonight?” James leaned on the counter, asking the lady.

“Well, for the next hour, it’s ‘For the Ladies’,” she explained in a scratchy, Long Island accent. “None of you look like fags, so unfortunately, you’ll have to wait.” James choked back the urge to call her out for her comment.

“Great, thanks,” Joe said in a hurried voice, eagerly grabbing James’s arm and pulling him downstairs to the actual club. They checked their coats in, heading straight for the bar.

As they ordered their first drinks, Joe began to chat up Trevor. James drowned them out, tuning into what was going on on stage instead.

The stage wasn’t that big, but it was big enough to have a few poles and a set of stairs. Men and women alike were sitting at tables around it, most holding drinks and tossing bills on stage. There were five or so male dancers on stage, all but one of them tan and toned. The one stood out to James, especially. He was brunette, arms covered in colorful tattoos. His face looked thin, nose prominent, and stubble covering most of the lower half of his face. James decided he wanted to get closer, leaving Joe to small-talk Trevor to death.

He held on tight to his drink as he weaved through the crowd, finding an empty seat about two tables back from the front of the stage, where the brunette was. James noticed that it wasn’t just his face that was thin; he had a slim feminine figure, hipbones protruding, but he somehow had a well-rounded ass. His eyes were dark brown, and they looked exhausted; he pulled it off so _well_ , though. James thought about how he would be even _more_ perfect on film.

He was wearing tight black jeans, matched with combat boots and a spiked dog collar. James watched intently as he floated around the stage to interact with the others, hips swinging smoothly to the obnoxious grunge music in the background. James took a sip of his drink, clutching it tighter as the brunette made his way back to where James was sitting. He teased the crowd by momentarily pulling down his jeans, causing the crowd to cheer, only to be cut short by him pulling them back up with a devilish grin. He looked out at the crowd and caught James’s eye, giving him a wink before prancing off elsewhere. James nearly choked.

He was suddenly tapped on the shoulder, causing him to jump and nearly drop his drink. A very drunk Joe and very sober Trevor appeared, Trevor’s arm wrapped around Joe to keep him from falling.

“Hey, uh, I think he’s gonna be sick,” Trevor half-screamed over the music. He was right; Joe was slumped over, hands on his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” James muttered under his breath, grabbing Joe by the arm.

“Thanks, kid,” James sighed as they began to head towards the stairs.

“What?” Trevor yelled back. “I can’t hear you.”

“Nevermind,” James said, louder. “Just, come on.”

James was thankful that Joe was _somehow_ able to make it up the stairs, only to vomit when he got onto the street.

“Thanks again, Brett,” James said as they passed him.

“No problem boys, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Brett replied. James stopped for a second, turning around. Trevor took a hold of Joe, who looked like he was ready to pass out.

“Hey, do you know the name of the uh, dancer who’s a guy with tattoos?” James bit his lip, hoping Brett could hook him up.

“Nah, sorry, man. We have so many of them, it’s hard to keep track. Maybe he’ll be here again, you can ask the manager.”

“I obviously can’t do that tonight,” James glanced back at Joe and sighed. “Thanks, though.”

James began the trek home, Joe’s left arm slung around his neck and the other around Trevor’s. The city was incredibly calm at this time at night. The traffic had died down, people had gone to sleep, and the wind had finally stopped. The air was brisk, but James didn’t mind it as much.

“You live close?” James asked Trevor, breaking the momentary silence.

“Uh, yeah, right down the street. First time there, though.”

“I could tell,” James chuckled. “Jesus, how much did Joe have to drink?” James asked as Joe nearly slipped and fell on ice. At least he was relatively light to carry.

“I think he had like, six shots, dude. I kind of stopped counting,” Trevor explained, adjusting Joe’s arm on his neck.

“Alright, this is us,” James stopped in front of their apartment. Trevor bent down so Joe’s arm slipped off of his neck, and James wrapped his right arm around Joe’s waist. “Thanks for the help, kid. Get home safe.”

“No problem, man. I’ll see you around, I guess,” Trevor shrugged, putting his hands in his jean pockets and continuing down the street.

James barely managed to drag Joe up yet _another_ flight of stairs, but he managed. As he pushed the door open, he immediately dumped Joe on the couch. Going into the kitchen, James got a mug and filled it up with cold water, grabbing a bowl out of the cupboard as well. He made his way back to Joe, putting the bowl next to Joe’s face on the coffee table. He tapped Joe’s face, trying to wake him up.

“Wuh,” Joe slurred, looking up at James. He looked exhausted, to say the least.

“You should drink something before you pass out. Here,” James offered the mug to Joe, who took it and chugged it like it was alcohol.

“This isn’t my drink,” Joe proclaimed angrily, before collapsing back on the couch.

James sighed, settling down in an arm chair next to Joe. His mind still wandered back to the brunette dancer. James thought for a minute about getting himself off, but seeing as it was nearly three in the morning according to his alarm, he dozed off.

—————

James was woken up by their house phone ringing. He looked over at his alarm, which read 8:05. He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands before running them through his hair. The phone stopped ringing, but it continued with a voicemail.

“Hi James and Joe,” a cheery, thick New York- accented voice began, which James recognized it as his mother’s. He heard Joe begin to stir beside him. “Merry Christmas, hope you’re both doing well. James, how’s your filmmaking going? You know I’d love to see some of it soon. We miss you here in the Upper East Side, hope the Village is treating you well, though. Love you so much, call back soon.” The line clicked.

“Man, why can’t your mom be our landlord?” Joe joked, still half asleep. “She know you haven’t done jack shit yet?”

“Of course not,” James snorted. “Do your parents know you got kicked out of Columbia and are crashing on _my_ couch in south Manhattan?”

“Touché, mon ami. At least our power's back.” Joe grimaced, sitting up. “ _Fuck_ , my head hurts.”

“Guess I didn’t force you to drink enough water. You got fucking _hammered_ last night. Trevor said you had so many shots that he lost count.” James chuckled.

“Well, if that isn’t Christmas celebration, then I don’t know what is,” Joe shrugged.

“Oh shit, yeah, merry Christmas.” James had completely forgotten. He swore he needed to see a doctor for his memory issues.

“You mean happy Hanukkah,” Joe jokingly corrected him. The fact that Joe was Jewish had again slipped James’s mind.

They were interrupted by another phone call, which James reluctantly decided to answer this time.

“Hello?” He answered. “Oh, hey. Yeah, once second.” James pulled the phone away from his ear, handing it to Joe. “It’s Brett.”

Joe sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the couch as he took the call. “Yello? Okay, Brett, calm down, what do you need help with? Oh, okay. Be there in a bit.” Joe handed the phone back to James who hung it up on the wall.

“What did he need?” James asked as Joe rushed around, looking for new clothes to change into.

“Uh, he just needs help with the setup for his performance,” Joe said, slipping on a new pair of jeans and a sweater. “His friend Lindsay didn’t show apparently, so I offered cuz he sounded so desperate.”

“Fair enough,” James mused. “I think I might go to life support today, by the way. Spread some Christmas cheer.”

“Really?” Joe gave him a strange look, causing James to laugh. “What?”

“Of course I’m not going, it’s just a load of bullshit.” James said. “Like, we’re going to die, just own up to it.”

“I dunno man, I’ve heard it’s helped a lot of people cope, I guess,” Joe shrugged, zipping up his jacket. “Need anything while I’m out?”

“Get food or something, we barely have anything here,” James noticed as he glanced over at their barren kitchen. “Have fun.”

“Oh I will,” Joe rolled his eyes, leaving.

James sighed and moved over to the couch, laying down, hoping to get some rest. Moments later, he was interrupted by a knock on the door. He groaned, getting up to answer the door.

“Did you forget your keys or something?” James asked, annoyed as he opened the door, freezing for a minute.

“No, I have them. At least I think so.” James couldn’t get himself to move or talk as he saw the brunette from the club standing in front of him, leaning up against his doorway. He was the _last_ person James expected to see, but nevertheless, there he was, standing inches away from him. He was wearing jeans identical to the ones James remembered from the night before, along with a low-cut shirt and a denim jacket. 

“Got a light?” he continued, holding out a candle. James’s mind went blank.

“I know you,” James started. “You’re...you’re shivering.” James watched the stranger’s body lightly tremble, knuckles white as he clutched the candle.

“It’s nothing, they just turned off my heat downstairs,” he shrugged. “I’m just a little weak, not too bad—yet. You seem to be doing better.” He moved past James into the apartment, looking around. “Nice place.”

“Sorry for the uh, mess, I guess, we don’t usually—”

“Do you have a lighter? Matches? Anything?” The brunette held a candle out as James found himself unable to take his eyes off the guy’s body. “What’re you staring at?”

“Nothing, just your hair in the sunlight,” James blurted out, instantly regretting his response. “You look familiar, is all.” The stranger let out a hum and smiled, but raised his eyebrows and held out the candle once more.

“Oh—right, sorry,” James fumbled through his pockets, producing a lighter. He walked over to the brunette and lit the candle, which ended up being a very strong pine scent. “Are you good?”

“Haven’t eaten much today,” the dancer mused, walking over to the windows looking out onto the street, gingerly pressing a hand to one. “But at least the room stopped spinning.” He turned back around to catch James staring at him again. “What?”

“Nothing, your smile reminded me of—”

“I always remind people of...who is she?” The brunette said in a bored voice, looking down at the candle which had burnt out already.

“ _He_ was temporary,” James muttered. “His name was Garrett.”

“Ah fuck, it blew out again,” the other said, frowning at the candle. “Sorry ‘bout your friend. Can you light it?”

James lit the candle again. “Well—”

“Yeah?” the brunette took a step closer to James, who felt captivated. They were so close, it made James wish he had the balls to actually _do_ something.

“Ow,” the stranger exclaimed, nearly dropping the candle.

“Oh, the wax is—”

“Dripping,” the dancer responded with a smirk. “I like it between my—”

“Fingers, I figured,” James laughed nervously. “Oh well. I uh, have things to do today, so if you could um...leave, that’d be...great.”

The stranger looked at James, not breaking eye contact as he blatantly blew out the candle.

“Oh, it blew out again,” James chuckled nervously.

“Ah, fuck,” the brunette said, walking toward the couch and putting the candle on the coffee table. He began to rustle through his pockets frantically. “I think that I dropped my stash.”

“So uh, I think that I’ve seen you out and about,” James continued, hoping to get _something_ out of him.

“I know I had it when I walked in the door,” the stranger grumbled, ignoring what James had said. “It was pure. Do you see it anywhere?”

“Uh, the floor maybe?” James suggested, confused. He hadn’t seen the dancer drop anything.

“You’re right, good place to start,” the brunette nodded, getting down on the floor on his hands and knees. James gulped as he watched him look for what he had lost. He was so _obviously_ showing himself off.

“Why don’t you forget that stuff? You look barely 19,” James pointed out in an attempt to distract himself.

“I’m 20, thank you very much. I’m old for my age; just born to be bad, I guess,” the boy half shrugged, continuing his search.

“I once was born to be bad,” James sighed, crossing his arms as he watched the guy search. “I used to shiver like that.”

“I have no heat, I—”

“I used to sweat,” James suddenly became serious.

“I’ve got a cold,” the brunette lied, shaking his head and going back to searching.

“Uh huh, I used to be a _junkie_.”

“Now and then I like to feel good,” the other said cooly. James gave him a disapproving look.

“They say that I have the best ass in lower Manhattan,” the brunette continued, looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Is it true?”

“What?”

“You’re staring again,” the dancer teased.

“Oh,” James caught himself, blushing. Fuck, was he hot. “I mean, you do….have a nice—I mean, you look familiar.”

“Like your dead boyfriend?”

“Only when you smile, but I’m _sure_ I’ve seen you somewhere else.”

“Do you go to the Cat Scratch Club?” the brunette asked, getting back up on his feet, seemingly victorious in his search. “That’s where I work.”

“Oh, _yeah,_ ” James tried to play it off like he didn’t know this already. “You dance, right?”

“It’s a living,” the brunette muttered.

“I didn’t recognize you without the dog collar,” James smirked. Checkmate.

“Hey, what’d you do to my candle?” The stranger changed the subject, a power move of sorts. He held up the dim candle again.

“I used up all of my lighter fluid, sorry,” James shrugged, completely lying. He watched the brunette’s eyes squint.

“Thank God for the sun, I guess,” the dancer said nonchalantly, taking one of James’s hands in his. “Cold hands.”

“Yours too.” James mentally kicked himself for not saying something wittier. The other's hands were like ice, but they were smooth and soft, while James's were rough and full of callouses. 

“Big,” the brunette observed with a smile as he slipping his hand into James’s. “Like my mother’s.”

“I’m James,” James barely made out.

“They call me Aleks,” the stranger, now Aleks, left a kiss on the back of James’s hand, causing him to blush again.

“Have fun with your ‘things’,” Aleks grinned, sliding past James and leaving.

Joe arrived seconds later, grocery bags in hand (thank _God_ , James was starving). “Who the hell was that?”

“Nobody,” James responded quickly. “Just filming something.”

“Uh-huh.”

**Author's Note:**

> Follow my [writing blog](http://samplescouts.tumblr.com)/[regular blog](http://devilsterritory.tumblr.com)


End file.
